


Mishap

by BiJane



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Dark Character, F/F, Ghosts, Season/Series 02, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4141821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiJane/pseuds/BiJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alchemy club experiment leads to ghosts popping up in a building on campus: more than a few of them have met Carmilla.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mishap

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by an angsty idea for a Hollstein break-up I tormented a friend with. I softened it somewhat for the story. I'm not quite that evil. 
> 
> Also, when I pasted this into AO3, the text went a bit weird: a few strings of letters were duplicated and put somewhere else for no discernable reason. I fixed what I saw, but some may have slipped through. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

There was a pause. A very, very long pause.

“Say that again,” Laura said, eventually.

“The alchemy club managed to get a sample of the angler fish’s lure,” LaF said. An expression flickered across their face; it might have been jealousy. “Quite impressive, actually, the kind of thing I’d-”

Another pause. Both Perry and Laura were glaring at them. LaF coughed.

“I mean, awful, awful thing,” they said. “They used the sample in one of their… experiments. So, over in the Payne building there are, kind of, uh, ghosts.”

The pause wasn’t getting any shorter. Laura slumped, collapsing back into her chair. A sigh.

“Ghosts,” she muttered: rolled her eyes. “Now it’s ghosts.”

* * *

 

Still, Laura couldn’t deny her curiosity: so, somehow, she found herself standing in the doorway of the Payne building.

It was huge: imposing, the typical architecture of Silas. It would have been at home in Shelley, but despite the archaisms, Laura needed to press her student ID to a card reader by the door, before it would open.

She was halfway inside before her brain caught up with her actions, enough to ask _what the hell are you doing?_

Ghosts. That never ended well. There wasn’t one happy story that involved ghosts. She was walking into what was by definition a haunted house.

And it looked like she was the only one: at least for now. The hallway was empty: not one person, shadow, or the merest drop of ectoplasm. It was almost disappointing.

Nervously, Laura wandered further in, all the while wondering why. She’d always been curious, always wanted to explore places like this: that didn’t stop the common sense portion of her brain screaming at her. She just ignored it.

She peered through a doorway: the lecture room was empty. Laura was about to move on, when what looked like fog coalesced. Uncertain, Laura stepped inside the room: leaving the door open.

The grey mist drew inwards: slowly became increasingly solid, tangible, until Laura found herself looking at a pearly silhouette.

“Um, hi?” Laura said. “You’re, uh, one of the ghosts?”

“You’re not her,” it said: or rather, she said. Though there was no visible mouth, nor any movement beyond the shifting of fog, the voice was distinctly feminine.

“Uh, probably not?” Laura said.

“You feel like her,” the ghost said.

“I don’t… um,” Laura said. Paused. “So, uh, when did you live? And who are you?”

“1720,” the ghost said. “My name is Rose,” another pause. The image shifted: “You have her scent.”

“21st century gal here, sorry,” Laura said, “I don’t think we ever could have… who’s her, anyway?”

“The one who killed me,” Rose said. “The one who fooled me, and lied to me, and drank me dry. Carmilla.”

A step back. Laura blinked: swiftly re-evaluated. Inasmuch as a formless void could express anything, Rose did seem to react.

Laura had known Carmilla had a… past. She’d known not all of her choices had been good ones, that there had been cruelties. Still, there was a difference between knowing of, and seeing a consequence.

“What-” Laura said: cleared her throat. “What happened?”

Any curiosity had faded. It wasn’t a matter of wanting to know: it was a matter of _needing_ to know.

“Why?” Rose said.

“Just- just tell me?” Laura said. “Please?”

A pause. A silence. The seriousness in Laura’s tone was apparently enough to convince Rose: still the spectre merely regarded her for a long few seconds.

“I only knew her a day,” Rose said. “She seemed kind. I liked her: and I asked her to visit me, sometime. That night, I went to sleep, and woke to her breaking my window.” A pause: Rose’s voice slowed. “I ran. She chased. She could keep up, easily, but she was playing with me. She kept me running: I kept hoping. If I screamed, she laughed. I wanted help, I shouted and pleaded for it, and no one-”

Rose started to shiver; instinctively, Laura moved closer. She lifted an arm, intending to offer some comfort, but falling short.

Still, her hand lowered; brushed the incorporeal, ghostly-grey shoulder-

And for a moment, all Laura’s senses were overwhelmed. She was running through a surprisingly large house, every door shut, and the barest glimmer of moonlight peering through the windows. She was tripping over shadows, terrified to so much as glance back.

Her breathing, her panting was louder than her footsteps: and she kept running, no matter how much her lungs burned, and how much her body wanted her to give up. She kept screaming, hand fumbling at a door: risking a glance back, and _she_ was there, fangs out, face contorted in-

Laura withdrew her hand at once, inhaling sharply. Touching a ghost pulled you into whatever they were thinking of. That was… odd. And unpleasant.

But still, that face: it wasn’t one she wanted to think of.

“She-” Rose said: paused. “Carmilla wasn’t alone. The other, the older was there as well. I went to my parents’ room, and she was there, over their bodies. That glimpse I had of them was my last sight, Carmilla caught me. Tore my throat open.”

Rose’s voice hitched as she said Carmilla’s name: and then she finished in a dull monotone. It was almost painful to hear. Silence. Laura didn’t want to think how Rose might look, if her misty visage was capable of holding any expression.

“If you know her, you need to get out,” another voice said. Laura turned, jumping to see another spectral figure now behind her. “I mean it.”

“That was- a while ago,” Laura said. “Centuries. She’s cha-”

The new ghost lunged for her, texture-less form passing right through Laura’s flesh. And, at once, Laura’s senses were again overcome by memories.

Now, her neck was aching. It was a pain she recognized: teeth, fangs, piercing her and draining her. Already, she felt light-headed: her arms flailed, but did so uselessly.

There were two people. She could only dimly register that: observation was difficult. Her world was fast becoming no more than the pains in her neck. One face she recognized as the Dean: and on the other side of her neck, she saw dark hair, and familiar eyes turned cold, apparently unaffected by the life she was draining away-

Laura stumbled: blinked her eyes clear. There were more figures now, coalescing all around her.

“Time doesn’t negate murder,” one voice. Laura couldn’t tell which of the fast-growing sea of grey spoke.

“Don’t think she’s any different,” another. “She killed us. If you know her, you’re next. Or someone you know is.”

“She’s not-” Laura tried to speak: her voice was overpowered by the tumult around her.

She could scarcely make out any words, now: only the hatred that emanated in waves. She wished Laura could say that hatred was unjustified; but the fact was, it wasn’t. These people would have lived, if not for-

“I’m Katherine,” another ghost spoke, her voice somehow clearer than the rest of the crowd. “I knew her, even when she was human. She was arrogant, even then. Privileged, ignorant. I wasn’t the kindest person myself, but I didn’t deserve-”

The voice cut off; Laura stumbled back.

Once there had been one figure; then two, then three, now it was getting hard to sort out where when ghost stopped, and another started. A dense fog had begun to fill the room, voices clamouring to be heard, and one name on all of their lips.

_Carmilla. The one who killed me_.

A step away from the room. She tried to get out of the hallway, only to feel the chill of a ghost’s touch, and-

She was screaming. Blood dripped from so-red lips, staining her hair. The woman above her lowered her head, again: sucked for scarcely a second. She was taking her time; all the while Laura – _not Laura_ \- pleaded, her words long since having become unintelligible-

Laura staggered out of the memory. Not her past. She moved on, peering down the hall only to see it fill up, the ghosts coalescing again, all with pain that demanded to be felt. Laura braced herself: and ran, changing through the insubstantial mist. And then-

It should have been romantic: Carmilla’s lips against her, moving almost tenderly. Instead, it stung: she sliced open a line of skin with a nail, and her eyes lit up at the scent of blood. And-

She was watching them dance. Carmilla, and her Maman, stepping and twirling to music no one else could hear. Her wrists were rubbed raw from rope, as she struggled frantically. She didn’t dare make a sound, afraid that their attention would turn to her.

But it wouldn’t last forever. The ropes were as tight as ever when their dance finished, and the elder turned: looked down to her. Then, the elder looked towards the ecstatic Carmilla. “Thirsty, dear?” And together, they-

Her family had taken pity on Carmilla: offered a room, and food, to who they thought was an innocent victim. She’d fallen ill, a lethargy seizing her every night. Carmilla had offered comfort; it was several days before she noticed the scars, and realized Carmilla was to blame. And, by then, it was too late. Her-

She was a gift, given by Carmilla, to the woman whose name she’d never learnt: and then given by the woman, to a vast Light. And that light passed her on, also. Beyond the light, there was darkness: only the merest glimpse of the features of the great creature that lurked below, and the feel of its unending, insatiable hunger-

There were tears in Laura’s eyes when she, at last, escaped the Payne Building, aching with the remembered sting of a thousand deaths. She tumbled through the door, half-falling, and utterly breathless. She collapsed to the ground, and lay on the steps, gasping at the sweet, fresh air.

* * *

 

She flinched when she saw Carmilla. It was hard not to, after all those memories. Her girlfriend’s face had morphed to the one she’d seen kill, time and again.

Not that Carmilla knew, or could know. She acted the same as ever, playing at being disaffected. She sauntered into the room, sipping blood from a glass, before sitting herself down beside Laura. Immediately, she moved close; hand casually resting in the lower edges of Laura’s hair, and her cool skin so very noticeable, at Laura’s side.

“So, nerdy ginger’s talking to a TV, and annoying ginger’s contemplating flash drive-icide,” Carmilla said. Her tone dropped low: her other hand reached to interlock with Laura’s. “The _really_ annoying ginger’s off with her society of Xena-wannabes. Sounds like we finally have a bit of privacy, cupcake.”

Laura flinched. She couldn’t help it: the voice Carmilla was using, that sultriness, seductiveness, she’d heard it dozens of times not long ago. Every ghost had heard some variation on it, every memory had Carmilla’s distinctive charm.

As much as she savoured the idea of some alone time, she just couldn’t deal with it. Not then.

“Laura?” Carmilla said, quickly. “Something wrong?”

Laura breathed in, uncertain of where she could even start. At least was a comfort that Carmilla seemed to care.

“I-” Laura said: and hesitated. “Did you hear about the Payne building?”

“What?” Carmilla said. “Yeah. Rain of spiders. Or ghosts. Or radioactive turtles. It’s kinda hard to keep track.”

“It’s ghosts,” Laura said. “I- uh, I went there.”

For a moment, Carmilla’s expression was despairing. Still, any irritation she might have felt at Laura’s utter lack of a self-preservation instinct quickly faded as she took in Laura’s expression.

“And?” Carmilla said. “Did you know any of them?”

“No,” Laura said: shook her head. She paused. “They knew you.”

“They-” Carmilla’s voice caught in her throat. Her face went from confusion, to comprehension, to resignation. “Oh.”

Laura blinked: stared. She’d somehow expected more. The memories she’d briefly experienced, the snapshots she’d lived through, they were intense. They deserved so much more than a tiny shift in mood.

And yet Carmilla wasn’t saying a thing. No excuses, no explanations, no confession.

“That’s it?” Laura said, eventually. “Just ‘oh’?”

“What else do you want, creampuff?” Carmilla said.

A brief silence, as Laura flailed, gestures filling in for the words she couldn’t think of.

“You killed them,” Laura said.

“Yeah,” Carmilla said: shrugged. Something in her eyes changed. “What did you expect? Vampire, remember. We don’t live off tea and biscuits.”

“But, now, you’re not-”

“Because blood bags used to be so common,” Carmilla said. “And people were just lining up to donate to the vampires.”

“What I heard,” Laura said, “What I saw: none of that was necessity, Carm. It didn’t look like you were just surviving. It looked like you were…”

A pause.

“Yes?” Carmilla said. “Were what?”

“It looked like you enjoyed it,” Laura said. She hurried over the words, refusing to dwell. She felt almost guilty saying so.

Carmilla didn’t respond. Laura risked raising her head; looking at Carmilla. She didn’t see shock, or anger. She didn’t see any kind of expression, except surrender. Acceptance.

“Carm?”

“Yes?” Carmilla said.

Laura gave an exasperated sigh. Carmilla could be so frustrating, sometimes.

“Say something,” Laura said. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Like what?” Carmilla said.

“Like I’m wrong,” Laura said, “Like you had a reason, like you were made to, like-”

“You’re not,” Carmilla said, almost in a monotone. “You know this. You know I lured girls for that damned fish, did you really think that was all I did?”

“Don’t you _care_?” Laura said.

“Why?” Carmilla said. “It was centuries ago. They’d be dead with or without me. What is there to feel sad about?”

Something was off with Carmilla’s voice. Laura couldn’t notice it; not with the content of her words.

In just a few seconds, the image she’d had of Carmilla had been torn down. Carmilla had saved Silas, had been willing to die for her. Carmilla the terrible roommate, the amazing snuggler: the unrepentant murderer.

A pause. Laura swallowed; wrenched herself to the side, away from her… girlfriend? The word felt wrong.

“I’m no hero,” Carmilla said. “You know that, Laura. I told you that.”

“That’s not-” Laura inhaled: “That’s not an excuse.”

“I know,” Carmilla said.

Laura closed her eyes: and she still saw Carmilla’s face, though this time her teeth were stained red, and were bared in a snarl. Laura stood, and immediately drew back.

Carmilla didn’t move at all. She still sat, perfectly still, waiting. She seemed to be expecting whatever was coming.

“Get out,” Laura said. She didn’t raise her voice, but the words had all the power of a shout.

She found it was getting harder to so much as look at Carmilla. She saw a killer; she saw a lack of any sadness, or regret. She saw that impassive, unflinching stare, and couldn’t help but recall what else those eyes had seen.

Carmilla stood, and didn’t speak.

“We’re done, Carmilla,” Laura said. “I- I can’t. Not if-” Laura closed her eyes, finishing her sentence with a frustrated sigh. She couldn’t find the words.

Carmilla met her eyes, for just a moment. Then, she turned, and walked out from the room. Laura shut and locked the door behind her, before collapsing onto her chair.

* * *

 

Danny had been by, briefly. She’d offered a little comfort, that was all: Perry had baked brownies, though the jury was out on whether that was a reaction to the break-up, or just Perry being Perry.

Laura didn’t want to move. She suddenly felt numb. It was more than just leaving Carmilla: it was how it had happened.

She’d been wrong. So very wrong. Everything she thought she’d known about Carmilla had been a lie: she’d thought it was an act. That aloofness, that playful coldness, it had seemed more like a joke than a cold hard fact.

And then she’d seen those Carmilla had killed, and she’d heard Carmilla admit to enjoying it without so much as an excuse or an apology.

It was strange, Laura reflected, how much numbness could hurt. It was meant to be the absence of feeling: not concentrated pain.

She could only stand others’ company for a little while. Now, she’d locked her door again: closed her eyes. Someone knocked on her door; she ignored it. Eventually, she heard LaF’s voice asking her to come out: she still didn’t answer. She needed to be alone.

Dwelling might not be healthy, but at least it was bearable. She kept going over it in her head, trying to rationalize. How could the Carmilla she’d known be the Carmilla she’d seen?

It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

Tired, Laura stood up. Laf was apparently eager to speak to her: if it would give her a little more quiet, she’d happily let them in. They stopped knocking as soon as Laura opened the door.

LaF’s eyes were wide, and they were breathless. Apparently they’d run here: it was easy to guess where they’d come from.

“Laura,” they said, “You have to come with me. The Payne building, they-”

“Ghosts, I know,” Laura said. LaF shook their head.

“Not for much longer,” they said. “Apparently their sliver of the Light’s going out. Or something. Kinda tuned out when they started chanting in Latin. The ghosts are only going to stick around for an hour or so.”

“Good,” Laura said.

“No,” LaF shook their head, quickly.

“Not good?”

“No.”

"Why?” Laura said. “Little less weirdness around Silas, that would be…”

“Good that it’s happening,” LaF conceded, “Even if I haven’t figured out how to take samples of them. But not so soon: I was just there. A few asked me about you.”

“I spoke to them,” Laura said.

“I know,” LaF said. They hesitated: “About Carm. But you didn’t speak to all of them.”

“I know what they’ll say,” Laura said.

“I don’t think-” LaF began, and paused. “Come with me. Please. It won’t take long, hopefully. Just, listen to them. It sounded important, and it’s their last chance to…”

Laura didn’t like to think of the Payne building. She still shuddered at the recollection of running through a crowd of ghosts, thrust from memory to memory: only a handful had been distinct, but there had been dozens, hundreds, all blurring together into a handful of nightmares.

She didn’t want to go back there. But then, she didn’t need to go in as far in as before; she had been unprepared. That, and she knew enough to trust LaF: they seemed to think it important.

“Fine,” Laura said. “Ok. If it’s their last chance.”

* * *

 

It was with some trepidation that Laura regarded the Payne building. She didn’t have the optimism, the curiosity, she’d had before: or rather, she did, it was just overwhelmed by fear. She knew what happened in those walls.

LaF gave her an eager thumbs-up, as she approached the front door. Apparently the spirits could only manifest inside.

Hand on the door. Laura pushed, barely peeking over the threshold.

She didn’t need to go far, this time. A ghost found her at once, coalescing just metres from the entrance. This one was a little taller than she; apparently older. Laura flinched, still half-outside.

“Are you her?” the ghost spoke. Her voice certainly sounded more mature than many of the others: much older.

“Who’s her?” Laura said. “I knew- know Carmilla. Apparently some of you want to talk to me.”

The misty silhouette nodded her head.

“I already know what you’re going to say,” Laura said, somewhat wearily. “I’ve spoken to some of you. You’re going to tell me she killed you, right?”

“No,” the ghost said. She paused. “She saved me.”

A moment of silence. Laura hesitated where she was, unsure.

“And me,” another voice: another spirit manifesting. “I shared a room with her, and she scared me off. I didn’t know I should have thanked her, until after…”

“Me also,” another voice. “She was the one who-”

“And I,” yet another, “Something was trying to drink my blood, and she pulled him off me-”

“She pled for my life with the one she called mother. She failed, but she tried, and-”

“She told me the truth when the sacrifice was due, and checked up on me every year after to make sure I hadn’t been-”

“She hid me when the-”

“Carmilla tried to-”

“She risked her life when-”

“She saved me, pretended to-”

“I wouldn’t be alive if she hadn’t-”

“She’s the one who-”

“I never forgot how-”

“I owe her every-”

“She-”

“I-”

“If-”

Laura stumbled back, a crowd of ghosts at least as overwhelming as those she’d seen before slowly coalescing: filling up the hallway: gratitude resplendent in each tone.

The voices were gradually becoming indistinct: a near-deafening tumult, cries and murmurs and pleading, until Laura couldn’t make out any words, just meaningless sound, and the unmistakable feel of gladness.

Thankfully, none came close enough to touch her. Laura didn’t want to experience that, even if these memories were apparently, somehow, good ones.

One ghost raised an arm: and slowly the crowd started to fall silent, before Laura left the building entirely. All kept their distance, apparently being aware of how Laura reacted to a ghost’s touch.

“What we’re trying to say,” just one ghost spoke now, “We met her too. I don’t know the details of what you were told before: many awful things, I expect. They may be true, many of us knew her later. We just want you to know the whole story. Time doesn’t negate murder, but a crime does not preclude redemption.”

Laura hesitated. Stared. There were no words to say.

“Everyone here,” the ghost spoke again, “All of us asked to speak to you. Many of us lived far longer lives thanks to her. She might have pushed us away from danger, or hidden us, or warned us, or confronted someone or something for us. She didn’t always succeed, but she tried. To the dead, that means a lot.”

A pause. Laura inhaled, then swallowed. She found her throat was suddenly dry.

“Why did you want to speak to me?” Laura said.

“To let you know,” the ghost said. “What you do, what you choose to do, who you believe: all of that is up to you. We just wanted you to know both sides. And-”

The spirit paused, there, apparently uncertain. Another ghost completed the sentence, her voice brimming with unrealized feeling.

“We want you to let her know we’re grateful,” she said. “And, for me, please tell her I’m- Tell her Elle’s sorry.”

And with that, the mist began to dissipate, the fog clearing, leaving the hallway empty. Though Laura lingered, no more spirits returned.

For the second time, Laura turned, and departed the Payne building with tears in her eyes.

* * *

 

She found Carmilla near a biology building. She was pacing, suddenly showing far more emotion than she had been during their argument.

Laura stopped, some distance away. What could she say? They hadn’t parted on good terms, and trying to strike up a conversation after something like that would never be easy. Laura stopped, watched, and played over several dozen possible opening lines in her head.

None felt like they worked.

“I can smell you, cutie,” Carmilla said.

Of course. Laura exhaled: paced out, into view.

“I thought we were done?” Carmilla said, expression unreadable.

“Um,” Laura said. She decided to get right to what she wanted to say. “I wanted to say sorry.”

“For what?” Carmilla said. “You were right.”

“I wasn’t,” Laura said. Hastily: “Not completely. I thought that meant you were… Something else. That wasn’t- I went to the Payne building again. There were more ghosts that knew you.”

“What did they say?” Carmilla sounded more irate than curious.

“I met Elle,” Laura said.

At once, Carmilla stiffened. A snarky retort wasn’t forthcoming; there was, momentarily, a flicker of hope in her eyes. It was quickly distinguished, her usual melancholy overcoming it.

“She said she was sorry,” Laura said. Carmilla gave a laugh, half-incredulous.

“Right,” she said. “The one who called me a monster, handed me over to be buried, and wished never to see me again, _and_ steered clear of my dreams back when you were dreaming of her. Of course she’d be open to being sorry. Cute, cupcake.”

“I’m not lying,” Laura said.

“If she was so sorry, she could have told me herself,” Carmilla said. “She could talk just fine to you.”

“Maybe she’s ashamed,” Laura said.

Carmilla opened her mouth, as though she was going to speak; then froze. Laura hurried on. Her girlfriend could be so frustrating, at times.

“Look at you,” Laura said. “The slightest mention of her, and you curl up, and become all guilty. Why wouldn’t she feel the same? Not everyone you’ve met is going to hate you, Carm.”

“And you’d know that how?” Carmilla said.

“Because I spoke to them,” Laura said. “There were… a lot. And they all said you’d saved them, or tried to save them. You’d helped them.”

A pause. Laura rolled her eyes skyward.

“Why didn’t you mention them?” Laura said.

“It makes a difference?” Carmilla said. “They’re all dead now, anyway. Does it count?”

“What?” Laura said: hesitated. “Of course it counts. You tried to save- That makes you a hero, Carm.”

Carmilla blanched.

“What’s your problem with being a hero?” Laura said.

“Because I’m not, cutie,” Carmilla said. She tilted her head; tried to sound unaffected. It didn’t work. “Someone who’s done what I’ve done can’t be a hero, Laura.”

“I don’t believe that,” Laura said.

Carmilla threw her head back for just a moment: irritation, exasperation, or frustration. Laura took a step closer, uncertain; at least Carmilla wasn’t going any further away, this time.

Laura couldn’t quite put it into words. The fact Carmilla had saved so many people, or at least tried to, it proved she wasn’t a murderer: not without Maman’s intervention, and not for a while. She could change: redeem herself.

“Why are you so keen on that?” Carmilla said.

“On what?”

“On making me out to be some kind of hero,” Carmilla said. “It’s like- Is that the only reason you liked me?”

Laura took another step close, instinctive.

“I say it because you are,” Laura said. “I like you for you: for who you are. But, yeah, the fact you’re a hero, it does help: but even if you weren’t…”

“If I weren’t?” Carmilla echoed.

Laura rolled her eyes. A muttered curse; then, with irritation as much as passion, she closed the gap between her, and leaned up: pressed her lips to Carmilla’s.

Carmilla jumped, momentarily surprised. Then, the tension drained out from her: still her hands lingered aimlessly, lifted halfway to Laura’s head.

“I know who you are,” Laura said, breathlessly. She leaned for another, briefer kiss: “I know what you are.” Another kiss. “I know what you’ve done.” Kiss. “ _All_ of what you’ve done,” another kiss.

That one went on some time longer, Carmilla finally regaining the courage to wind her fingertips in Laura’s hair, savouring the closeness. Laura was far from eager to break the kiss.

“I still think you’re a hero,” Laura said. “That won’t change. But, either way, I care for you Carm. Got that?”

Laura’s expression turned deadly serious: or at least what passed for it. It didn’t quite suit her diminutive frame. Carmilla chuckled, suddenly relieved; and somehow lighter.

“Sure, creampuff,” she said: smiled. “Sure.”


End file.
